


maybe you were my shooting star, my wish come true

by tommyglued



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Misunderstandings, Pining, alternate universe - dreams as parallel worlds, make it a legit tag u cowards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 08:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15092615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommyglued/pseuds/tommyglued
Summary: "What could a lonely boy do in a world he didn't know?Absolutely anything.Thomas let his feet carry him into the unknown."---or, every day they wake up in another dream, but they dont know if they'll remember or meet each other again.





	maybe you were my shooting star, my wish come true

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BELATED DAY OF BIRTH TO MY SUNSHINE SOPH I LOVE U SO MUCH sorry im the Worst not even starting two months in advance could help me ocsofob BUT!!!!!! ITS HERE FINALLY

Thomas opened his eyes to nothing but a memory of a woman that must have been his mother: long silky hair and a sweet voice, echoing in his mind as a sentence.  _ Every time you close your eyes, you’ll open them in another dream. _

And somehow it seemed… Right. Like he’d expected it. Like he was finally ready to begin a life he was destined to lead. It was weirdly comforting.

He got out of bed, walked around the house he didn't recognize. It was empty except for him and old, but nicely kept furniture. His feet led him to a bathroom and he stood there, examining his reflection, from his tiny frame to chapped lips and weary eyes to short spiky hair.  With a sickening blow to his stomach, it dawned on him that he had absolutely no one. He was utterly alone.

Maybe he should just go back to bed and stare at the ceiling until he woke up in another dream, maybe even another place. But what if that wasn't his house? If he only woke up there? He shut his eyes tightly and opened them again. It didn't really matter, though, did it? He was there now. Might as well use what he had at hand, since he had nothing of his own at all.

Slowly, still drowsy and heavy lidded, he walked back to the bedroom, floorboards creaking under his feet. Morning light painted rectangles on the floor and dust danced in the light; with a start Thomas realized he hadn't seen any dust at all until that moment. He chose to ignore it and opened a closet to find at least a dozen pairs of the exact same sweatpants and white T-shirts, both of which were a bit too big for him.

Whatever.

 

The house was still eerily vacant. The fridge was empty except for a single block of stale cheese. 

He wasn't  _ that _ hungry.

He thought of checking the drawers if there was any money left but it felt… Off. Like someone was waiting around the corner to jump out as soon as he made a wrong move. With one last look at the peeled off paint on the hallway walls and a father clock that showed 10:30, Thomas turned the doorknob and stepped out.

 

What could a lonely boy do in a world he didn't know? 

Absolutely anything.

Thomas let his feet carry him into the unknown.

 

A street after a street, hundreds of meters of concrete stamped with the steady fall of his footsteps. Light that escaped thick canopies danced on his skin like a disco ball. Every house had a different story to tell. As people passed him, he wondered how many of them had woken up that same morning with a mind devoid of memories. How many of them still had them all? Had he known them?

A crowd was gathered around a stall placed where Thomas supposed a gate to the house would’ve been. A boy with warm eyes and a kind smile stood behind it, dressed in an apron and giving various foods away without asking for a payoff. His surprise must’ve shown, because the guy chuckled softly.

“Hello spiky bangs! How may I help you?”

“Uh…” Even the mere sight of food made his stomach growl painfully, but if everyone else was rude, he didn't have to be. “I don't have any money. Thanks, though.”

“Oh  _ please _ ,” the guy waved him off. “Is this your first dream after the memory loss?”

“Yeah.”

“Thought so. Well, buddy, you won't see anyone use that here. So relax! And for the love of god, take something. I could hear your stomach rumble all the way here.”

“Oh,” he said, suddenly embarrassed. “Okay then. I um...”

Fruit or cake? A sandwich or chips?

“I’ll take that sandwich on the left.”

“This one?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. I’m Frypan, by the way,” he added, extending a hand. A funny name, Thomas thought.

“Thomas.”

“Nice to meet you, Thomas. Have fun!”

“Thanks!”

He’d remember that Frypan guy - he seemed pretty chill.

 

The quiet suburbia slowly molded into the busy traffic and high buildings of a city. Thomas stopped in front of a bus stop, people pushing past him in a hurry. Shortly after, a bus arrived and he stood at the door, shuffling legs. Should he go in or take a walk? As the doors started closing, he rushed in, deciding to have a little tour down the streets before taking off on his own. His heart was in his throat, making him dizzy; he took a seat next to a window and his breath hitched, eyes flying to the shops slowly slipping away from his sight. In front of him sat a boy so handsome he couldn't look at him directly. In the corner of his eye, he saw him mouthing soundlessly, probably to the lyrics of a song he was listening to. Their knees touched as the bus halted unexpectedly and for a moment, he held the boy’s gaze; wide, intense eyes spelling a question he couldn't understand. He averted his eyes, panicking.  _ Shit shit shit.  _ Did he think he was weird? The boy pulled his knees to himself, Thomas wishing he hadn't, the pressure of it still lingering on his skin.

They sat, station after station, through a tense silence. It was hard to concentrate on remembering the city when he kept glancing back at the soundless words forming on the boy’s lips. Suddenly he stopped, and with a jolt of horror Thomas realized he’d been staring. Surprisingly, the boy smirked.

“What is it, spiky bangs? Found something interesting on this face?”

If voices had taste, his would be chocolate.

“Oh, no! No, I uh… I was trying to figure out what you were singing.”

“Oh,” the boy said, and something about him changed. His smile seemed strained, eyes glassier as he looked away. Did he say something wrong?

“I’m sorry,” he added quickly. “I didn't mean to freak you out or anything, I’m just-”

“Oh you didn't! Don't worry about it.” He glanced at his hands as he fiddled with his phone. “Do you like it?”

Thomas blinked in surprise. “What?”

“The song. Do you like the lyrics?”

_ Shit.  _ He didn't catch a word. He kind of just watched as his lips moved without putting the effort into deciphering the words. “Uh… I’m not a really good lip reader.”

The boy smiled, almost knowingly. Thomas wished he knew what was going on. Then the boy pulled on the string of his headphones and tore an earbud out, fishing it out of his hair, resting elbows on his knees and holding it between them.

“Wanna hear?”

Knobbly fingers slid under his as soon as they brushed, as if the slightest amount of friction would set them ablaze. Thomas put the earbud in and the music started. It sounded like a dream, like  _ that _ dream, and Thomas couldn't avert his eyes from the boy's. He had a strange feeling the song felt like him too.

“I don't even know your name,” he wondered aloud. He didn't know anything about him, so why did he feel so familiar? The boy nodded solemnly, glancing at his clasped hands.

“Newt.”

“I’m Thomas.”

Newt smiled and even the light slowed down to admire it. “Nice to meet you, Thomas.”

The bus stopped but the song was still playing; Newt turned to the door and frowned. Did he have to go?

“Come with me,” Thomas blurted out. He didn't want to lose him just yet.

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere. I don't know. I just… I want to get to know you.”

Newt looked back to the door, a little red in the cheeks and chewed on his lip. Was he too bold? They’ve just met, after all. But there was something about him that drew Thomas in like a bee is drawn to vibrant colours. Maybe he was vibrant under that nostalgically sad exterior and Thomas was colorblind for everyone but him.

Suddenly, the music stopped as Newt took their earbuds out and for a moment, Thomas was afraid Newt would bolt for the door without looking back, but he put the phone in his pocket and grabbed him by the wrist.

“Let's go.”

 

Newt’s hand paused mid air, a muffin almost brushing his mouth as he watched Thomas curiously, a laugh bubbling out of him.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm?”

“Are you dancing?”

“Oh,” he said, realizing his body had been moving without him consciously registering it. “Yeah. I’ve got food. I’m happy about it, I guess.”

“You haven't realized you’ve been doing it?”

Thomas took a bite of his cake. “No?”

If he was about to comment on it, he decided to keep it to himself and laughed softly instead, shaking his head.

“You’re full of surprises, Tommy.”

That was a really cute nickname.

He pointed his fork at him. “You don’t even know me yet.”

Newt bit his lip. “Yeah, you're right.”

 

They walked side by side down alleys with roads made up of square shaped rocks, relatively small buildings that were dirty enough to look old but clean enough not to look like ruination shaping their pathways. They weren't holding hands, but almost; if Thomas moved his hand just a little bit to the side, Newt’s fingers would fall right between his. He blamed the cozy atmosphere of the city for making him want to fall in love, to hold a hand, to kiss a mouth. The more streets they roamed, the more delicious smells he picked from passing restaurants and sweets shops or saw walls where paint was patched with grafiti, the closer the city grew to his heart. He could tell Newt loved it too, from the lazy smile that rested on his lips.

“It’s quite fascinating, how modern shops are wedged into ancient facades of the city and don't seem out of place at all. Like, you turn left, there's a boutique, you turn right, there’s a bronze statue made centuries ago.”

He didn't even know how he knew all that.

“You really are new to this world, aren't you?” Newt teased.

“Why? Don't people get excited about small things?”

“They do! I agree with you, I’ve just… Never thought about it that way. It’s- quite endearing.”

“Oh.”

He turned to Newt and found him already looking at him.

“The thing is, you live every day like it's your last because you don't know if you’ll remember your next. And sometimes you're too busy trying to live to notice such details.”

_ Oh.  _ “Well  _ that  _ I didn't know.”

“Now you do.”

“Now I do.”

Would he mind if he brushed the hair out of his eyes and traced the sharp line of his jaw all the way to his mouth? Would he mind teaching him how to come alive with his lips as the only guide?

Their hands bumped, sending a shiver over his skin, and he found Newt's fingers shyly making their way to his own until they intertwined. He could do anything now.

“Let's make the best of it, shall we?”

“Weren't we already?”

Newt smiled, and it was enough to make Thomas weak at the knees.

“You got me.”

 

_ Live the day like it's your last _ is usually associated with extreme sports and activities, and he and Newt didn't fall out of the mold. They engaged in dangerous maneuvers such as figuring out how many licks it takes to eat an icecream before it melts into your lap, running after the water spurred out of the fountain as the wind blows and laughing so hard that they're reduced to convulsing messes crying and gasping into their knees. Climbing onto the wall of a fortress and getting chased off it  _ was  _ genuinely scary, though, but it had a breathtaking view and he got to lean on Newt's shoulder and dangle his legs as Newt played with his fingers.

It was worth it.

 

Slowly, the sun retreated from the sky. They walked back to the tallest building they’ve seen and rode the elevator to the roof, lying down and gazing up at the stars. Despite how close they’ve gotten during the day, Thomas was reluctant to snuggle closer.

A flash of light crossed the sky; it could've been missed with a blink of an eye.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah,” Newt replied, sounding breathless.

“Make a wish.”

Silence stretched as they sent out their plea to the universe. Thomas knew exactly what to ask for.

“I don't want this day to end,” he whispered.

“Me neither.”

“Can we like… pull an all nighter or something. What if we don't fall asleep? Can we delay going to another dream?”

“No. Tried it,” Newt said, with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Thomas’ ribs closed in on his lungs. He turned to the stranger that didn't feel like a stranger at all, the one who made him feel like the world was at their palm. The one who stole his heart in a little more than 12 hours.

“I don't want to forget,” he said, voice breaking.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

“Shhh.”

He couldn't see Newt, but he felt his arms around his waist pulling him closer, felt the warmth of his palm against his cheeks as he stroked the tears away.

“You don't know if you will, alright? Don't think about that.”

His words hung above Thomas’ mouth, ghosting over his skin like airborne morphine. He lifted his head and kissed him. The taste of his lips was the only medicine he needed.

“Promise me,” he breathed out, holding out a pinky finger. “Promise me you’ll look for me in the next dream. I can't promise I won't forget, but I can promise you this. I’ll look for you.”

Their pinkies linked.

“I promise.”

  
  
  


Thomas opened his eyes in another bed, in another room, without the boy whose arms he had fallen asleep in.

He remembered.

 

How could a lonely boy find another in a world he didn't know?

He had no clue, but he was determined to do so anyway.

 

Last time, he met him by accident, so he walked the streets of a new city alone, eyes wide open. It was busier, noisier than the last one, with glass covered skyscrapers twisting into the heavens. Hope was fading away like mist, but he still grabbed for it, clutching its whisps for dear life. He wasn't the one to give up easily.

 

Through the simmer of heat evaporating from the concrete and heads trained at the stubbornly unblinking traffic light, Thomas caught a glimpse of light. It led him to a boy with an undercut and a septum that reflected sunlight, looking straight at him with that same heartbreaking plea in his eyes that he’d seen in Newt's. As he turned around, nudging his way out of the crowd, Thomas realized with a panicked scream on the tip of his tongue: it  _ was  _ Newt. And he walked away. He lurched toward him -maybe if he was fast enough he could get to him before he vanished- but got pulled back as a truck zoomed right in front of his nose.

“What the  _ fuck _ were you thinking?” A girl with a buzzcut pierced him with a fierce gaze that made words clog up in his throat. “Are you fucking insane? You could've died!”

“If only I did.”

At least he wouldn't have to hold the memory of the boy he had grown so fond of looking him in the eye and leaving.

  
  
  


Every day he opened his eyes to a new place and new people, sometimes even to smaller differences in his own appearance. And he remembered. One dream, one day, one addition to the ever growing collection of memories.

And every day, he found Newt and watched him slip away.

Was he even real? Was it really him? Thomas could still feel his finger around his own, the words spoken in a solemn whisper.  _ I promise. _ Did he have a change of heart? Did he forget? With every whip of head in opposite direction, Thomas’ heart sank further into his stomach.

“Leave him be,” Brenda, the girl who saved his life, advised him in a dream when they met again. “He’ll make a step if he wants you back.”

He didn't like it, but she was right. So he did. When Newt turned, he didn't follow. When he caught him looking his way, he didn't mouth his name. He turned another way instead.

  
  
  


Day 17 since his memory loss. Thomas tapped on his knee to a random tune that was stuck in his head as the train moved and stopped. A woman's voice boomed through the speakers, announcing the station. As the doors slid open, a crowd swarmed in. At first he didn't notice, but when he did, he had to stop himself from bursting into tears.

It was Newt; clothes dotted with droplets of rain, blissfully unaware of Thomas’ presence in such a small proximity. He looked exactly the same as he did the day they’d met.

Maybe Thomas should’ve let him go, or maybe he should wait, but  _ god damn _ if he didn't have enough of it. He deserved to know the reason. If there was no  _ them _ , he wanted closure, even for the little that they’d had.

He was tired of playing hide-and-seek.

When the train stopped, Thomas jumped up and watched Newt step out into the pouring rain as he got stuck in a group of people huddled together, his veins burning with panic.

Newt wouldn't run away. Not this time.

He ran through the door right before they slid closed, stepping into mud, warm drops of rain hitting his face. Newt wasn't far away; he ran and caught him by the wrist, turning him around.

“Do you remember?” He shouted, his voice drowned by the thundering rain. “Your previous dreams?”

_ Do you remember me? _

“Every single one of them.”

 

“I just want to know  _ why _ .”

Newt bit his lip, looked at his feet then into his eyes. “I thought you forgot again. And I just… I wasn't ready to start over again.”

_ Again. _ Thomas’ head spun.

“You… knew me?”

“Yes.” His lip trembled. “Three years.”

“Oh my god.”

Three years of dreams, of his life. All gone.

“You’re still the same person I- You're still the same. It was just… hard to put it all behind. But I kept running into you and- I’m so so-”

Thomas grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him for all the years he’d forgotten and was yet to forget, for all they’d been, they are and were yet to be. The brain might’ve forgotten, but his tongue still remembered the way around Newt's, his hands still remembered how his muscles moved under his fingers. His heart still remembered how to ache for the one person who made dreams worth living.

“If there's one thing I’ve learned,” Newt gasped, eyes still closed and forehead pressed to his, “it's that I’d rather start over a thousand times than live without you. And I know you’ve basically known me only for a day and this might sound crazy, but-”

“It’s not crazy,” Thomas shook his head. “I- I know. Me too.”

  
  
  


“I thought you were my shooting star. I had you for one beautiful moment and then you were gone, just as quickly as you came.” He tucked a loose strand behind his ear. The grass was still damp, but they lay nonetheless, looking at each other instead of the sky. “Turns out you  _ are _ a shooting star, but you keep coming back.”

“If I’m your shooting star,” Newt began, his voice so tender it hurt, “what do you wish for?”

“You. Every single time.”

A smile brighter than the moon. “Then you must be really lucky.”

“Yeah. I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> [this is the song newt played to thomas on the bus jsyk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uvw5VobiTQc)
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> also!!!! talk to me!!!!!!!! ask questions if u have any!!!!!! validate me or yell at me incoherently!!!!!!


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